"For the moment you can be whatever you want to be. We'll see! And we will talk later about what's best for you. You have many years to think about a good education and a wonderful career. My main point is that the Mexican-American people in the Valley could surely use you as an attorney."
Don Federico wanted to tell him how hard life really was. He wanted to tell him how life had been for him, and how difficult it had been for him growing up. He understood Fred's uneasiness. All of the harshnesses of life in the Rio Grande Valley would become more apparent as he got older.
Fred would have to confront the problems of his identity, his mixed-race among white people in a society that were biased, especially in Texas. The Don wanted to tell him so much, but could not come to terms with himself in explaining so many important things that matter in life. He kept studying Fred, who seemed so unaware and unconcerned, so gangling and awkward, and so damn mischievous.
The many hours on the train were spent together with food, soft drinks, humor, laughter, and the anticipation of getting home to all of their animals and loved ones. When the time came for Don Federico to say something, he glanced toward Fred, who had been busy at the window counting the poles along the railroad tracks.
But there was no answer. Fred was slumped down on the seat, sound asleep.
CHAPTER 9
"Next stop, coming up," announced the black porter with the Missouri and Southern Pacific Line. The stop was only a short pause, in desolate cacti and brush country, where several wooden cattle pens used to load Don Federico's and other ranchers' cattle, sat empty. The donated land made it convenient for the inhabitants who lived within the twenty-mile district to load or unload their animals.
Don Federico and Fred were tired and both had anxiously been awaiting their return home. It had been a long trip, and ten days had seemed like an eternity. San Antonio was very nice; however, coming home was wonderful.
They hoped Roy would be at the location to pick them up since it was already getting late in the afternoon. Don Federico was excited to get home and see if there had been any new news. The train came to a screeching halt. Already from the window, Fred had caught a glimpse of Manuel sitting on one wagon and in another wagon was Manuel's friend Yo-Yo, from a little Ranchito close to the border on the Mexico side. Yo-Yo wasn't his real name, but everyone had called him that ever since he could remember. He got his name simply because his answer to everything was, "Yo, yo, yo." In Spanish, it meant "me." He would visit Spanish Acres about six times a year, especially when he was low on money, and would help Roy and the rest of the vaqueros with the cattle and the horses. He was an expert on cattle, knowing everything there was to know about them. Yo-Yo was an older, graying man, about fifty-nine, tall and thin, the opposite of Manuel. His face was always jolly and swarthy, with an aquiline nose and Indian high-cheekbone features. He was a vaquero by profession and a fiddler by heart. Yo-Yo and Manuel had something special in common—they both liked to drink. "And you could bet your boots," mumbled Don Federico under his breath to Fred, "that the two of them have already had a real hummer of a fandango."
Fred laughed out loud as he picked up his packages and followed his father outside, where he felt the difference in the humid temperature.
"Patrón, Don Federico! Over here!" shouted Manuel, waving his hands frantically, as though el patrón might not have seen him. He weighed over two hundred pounds, and there was no way Don Federico could have failed to notice him. There were two wagons, with two mules hitched to them, and there was nothing else around except the desolate isolation surrounding the rampant undergrowth, the wilderness, and the abandoned cattle pens.
"Ay! Don Federico, we have missed' jeu.” He spoke Spanish in between his broken English. Tanto gusto to have jeu safe back," Manuel said, smiling. "And jeu been goon' for a very long tiempo."
Yo-Yo staggered towards Don Federico and gave him an abrazo and turned to Fred and gave him one, too. You could smell the spirits drenched in and out of his body. Both men were soaked with the besotting liquids. His breath would melt paint.
"Ah, ha, qué pasa, Don Federico." Yo-Yo's greeting came with a cheerful smile and few teeth.
"I am a little tired," answered the Don. "Looks like the area had some rain." He surveyed the vast landscape and could see puddles of water. In the late afternoon, the fog was thick and rising.
"Uh huh, it rained a little last night. That's why it's so sticky and stuffy," answered Yo-Yo. And then another, "Uh huh! We had a real hell of a tiempo gettin' here. Yes sir, a real tiempo gettin' here, uh huh. The dirt caminos got big arroyos of water, uh huh."
"Afraid we did not get here in good tiempo," interrupted Manuel. Both of their conversations were confused, and they went on and on and made all kinds of excuses, rambling on, with so many unnecessary explanations that it was a wonder they found their way.
Yo-Yo would reply, "Uh huh," to every sentence, beginning and ending, it did not matter. Sometimes he would speak and then answer his own self.
It took close to an hour before all of the merchandise was unloaded from the train and stacked into the two mule wagons. Many of the Negroes working on the train helped load. Don Federico gave each one a tip.
"Ay! Hijo!" shouted Manuel, scratching his head and looking at the merchandise.
"Ay! Caramba! Uh huh," retorted Yo-Yo, looking surprised, "Uh huh!"
The people waiting in the coach compartments of the train were being inquisitive, for they were looking out the windows, and many appeared to be getting restless, for their destination was Harlingen and on down to Brownsville. Finally, the train continued its destination south, leaving a foggy trail of smoke behind.
"Well! Let's get things moving, Manuel!" snapped Don Federico. His voice was firm and sharp, as he was eager to get home. He knew that it wasn't the bad roads up ahead, but the liquor that had perhaps complicated their directions in getting to the railroad tracks.
"Como no, patrón. Los vámos!" Manuel said.
"Uh huh," was the word of the day.
The sun was slowly going down in the west. It made the vapors rise, and before long all four were soaked and drenching wet with sweat. The unproductive land immediately gave way to the hostile mesquite and chaparral mixed with cacti. It swelled away toward the horizon that separated land and sky. Steam rose from the soaked, muddy ground like a ghostly mist. They could smell the fog and mist infiltrating their nostrils. The fickle weather was slowly changing from one season to the next, and in the distance, they could see the tall cottonwood trees trading their green leaves for gold. Up ahead a black vulture was circling above one of the mesquite trees. Occasionally, a mockingbird would call out. Moss hung on many of the gray branches of the tall mesquite trees, imparting a feeling of eerie awe.
Up the muddy road, Don Federico asked Manuel, "How are things back at the hacienda?" Manuel did not answer immediately but shrugged with nervousness, and chewed his gum faster to the point of grinding his teeth between rigid jaws. Don Federico turned his head back to view Yo-Yo, who was driving the second wagon and making a snoring noise. The Don had known Manuel since he was a young man, and he was familiar with the man's actions and mannerisms. He decided the two were keeping some secret news between them.
"We gut's company at the hacienda," replied Manuel, blurting out the words. "Ay! Dios!" His words sounded like his mouth was full of mush.
Behind came the sounds of "Uh huh!"
"Oh?" Don Federico replied.
"Ay, Don Federico, please forgive me. La Señora Francisca, she tells me not to say nothin' to jeu. She tells jeu, herself. But I sabe! How much jeu hates la Señora Emma. Well! She had been at the casa for seven days. We have counted the hours." The two rolled their eyes.
"That's all I need!" he answered in disgust, "Emma and her big mouth, giving orders to all."
"Yo-Yo and Manuel have been out with the vaqueros because Yo-Yo and Manuel don't like her talk. Uh huh!" replied Yo-Yo from behind, followed by another, "Uh huh!"
"
That fat woman would make a saint cuss," replied the Don, frowning. "Foul-mouthed witch, trampling everyone who gets in her way." But Manuel and Yo-Yo, these two old buzzards, did not need an excuse to get away. As long as there was drinking to do, it was considered serious business.
"Uh huh!" chimed in Yo-Yo, "Uh huh!"
"Everyone at the hacienda is upset with each other since Emma got here. Uh huh! But mí compadre, Manuel, and Yo-Yo do not want to get into the wee'men's skirts. So we leave them alone." He coughed and then repeated, "Uh huh."
"Also," said Manuel, "Martin, el Toro, called 'the bull,' the young boy from the Ranchito Trevino southwest of Spanish Acres, came looking for Fred. He ran away from home because of his Papá, Señor Trevino, beat him good. A chinga of a beating the boy got. He was bleeding so badly that Maria had to put salve on his back. He'll be staying at the Rancho and helping Roy with the cattle."
Fred's eyes lit up. "Oh, great!" he responded. "I haven't seen him in a long time, and I'll have someone to play with."
Don Federico remained silent. He was watching the road and the mules up front, his mind deep in thought. The fog was thickening as the last sun rays beamed through the top of the mesquite trees. Passing along some large rocks in the middle of the dirt road, the wagons slowed to a snail's pace because of the roughness of the unpaved path that disappeared into the grayish jungle of cacti and cottonwood trees that had sprawled out in every direction.
But it was not long before they could see the windmills standing erect in the distance. Out in the gathering dusk could be seen several of the vaqueros riding herd on the many cattle. As the land became flattered, the wagons rolled faster, and they soon passed under the tall arches and around to the back of the big house.
The thought of Emma made Don Federico's blood boil. But Emma was Francisca's cousin, the blood cousin. She was the only daughter of Francisca's mother's sister, Señora Dolores Ochoa, from Monterrey, Mexico, who had died many years ago. Emma came from the era of the "bosoms and buttocks" style of fashion—a "Gibson Girl" image. She had perhaps thrown her corset away many years ago because companies did not make them that large. She had been blessed with heavy legs—piano legs, holding the enormous weight of her body, since the Lord, thank heavens, knew all the time what he was doing with her from the very beginning.
Emma's first husband was an infantry soldier stationed at Fort Ringgold, the Army post in Rio Grande City, and he was killed when their daughter Felicia was only a year old. The couple had been married for only three years when he died.
Grieving and with a young child, Emma in her early twenties had been attractive and thin. She attracted a new, older husband, Howard Ale, who was a retired military judge, as well as a widower and a womanizer. But he had money.
Immediately after their marriage, Emma's character began changing, and nothing could stop her from trampling over everyone who got in her way. Because of Howard Ale's status and money, Emma developed a tremendous ego. Her feeling of importance went straight to her head. Still a bride, she convinced Howard Ale to move to Mercedes City, buying several acres from the Fuste Rancho called Saddletree, which was previously owned by the Cavazos family. There they built their three-story home. It didn't take long before Emma became a nosey, busybody socialite, interfering in everyone's lives, having parties and social dinners for the rich and important people with vast amounts of wealth and income. She was unaware of her eating disorder and after the twins were born, she found an opportunity to rectify that and began gaining weight.
In Don Federico's imagination, he could hear her talking in her high-pitched voice that sounded like a handsaw in high gear; but Emma was family and he had to be receptive to her needs for his wife's sake, in spite of his feelings of intolerance toward her.
Outside, many of his servants and his immediate family were waiting for them: Elena and Miguel with all their children, including Yolanda; Roy, with several of the vaqueros and Martin; Victoria, and Felicia, holding hands with little Carlos; Soledad, who stood next to Mamá Maria; behind them was Olivia and Ophelia; and in the far corner—Emma. Doña Francisca was strangely absent, which left Don Federico puzzled.
Sounds of joy erupted from all, with hugs and kisses all around, except for Emma, who stood with her arms folded across her enormous waist, or what was called a waist, because she had a body that was balanced in all directions: four by four, short and heavy. Felicia, the only daughter of Emma by her first husband, was considered shy, quiet and reserved, and no wonder, for the girl was completely dominated by her mother.
"Roy," hollered Don Federico, "have the rest of the men help you unload the packages and bring them inside. The large covered box, unload it off the wagon and leave it outside. I want to surprise Mamá Maria." Heading through the entrance, he went past Emma and suddenly, in pretend surprise, stopped and looked her way. "Why, Emma! What brings you to Spanish Acres?" he said mockingly.
"I came to see about Francisca, who is terribly sick," she replied, getting her feathers all ruffled. "You need to start paying attention to her and her illness," she scolded. "The cattle, horses, and animals get more attention than the human beings in this place!"
"She has only a cough! And you know better, that's not true!"
"She's got more than a cough," replied Emma obstinately, in her high-pitched voice. Her eyes were dead set on the Don and full of venom. "We took her to the doctor in Reynosa a couple of days ago, and he claims she has consumption, and what is worse, a rare case of the disease—tuberculosis. She needs medication and plenty of rest."
"Where is Francisca now?" answered Don Federico, stunned and shaken, feeling a sense of humiliation and guilt and for traveling and having left her, not knowing she was that sick. It was like drawing a bad hand in poker.
"Lying down where she needs to be!" Emma answered angrily. "She is sleeping now."
"To tell you the truth, Emma," Don Federico answered, looking at her squarely, "I have been insisting on taking her to the doctor, but she has refused. She takes the medicine that Doña Adela gives her. Furthermore, I am not a doctor!" The Don's voice became louder and more irritable. "And your cousin, as you well know, is very stubborn. I can only do so much!"
"Bah! Witch things! What a poor excuse! That medicine hasn't helped her. You should have known better! As educated as you are, you should have detected that she was worse than she's letting on. The day I arrived, Francisca fainted and began coughing up blood. It scared all of us in the household. Victoria, Manuel, and I took her to Reynosa. We had no other choice! We took her to see my doctor across the border."
Don Federico, visibly shaken, dropped everything and hurried upstairs. Fred had already run upstairs to see his mother but found her sleeping. He put his finger to his lips and whispered to his father as he approached the entrance. "Mom's asleep. I'm going downstairs to see Martin, el, Toro."
"Fred, I have to talk to Martin and ask him what happened at his house." Don Federico spoke very softly while looking at Fred seriously. "I do not want any trouble with his father. I know his father is very abusive to him, his brother, and his wife. Martin can stay here as long as he wants. I have no objection to that."
"Thank you, Papá," answered Fred. Anxious to find his friend, he hurried on down the stairs.
Entering into his wife's bedroom, the Don saw Doña Francisca lying against the white cotton pillows. Her face had a grayish look as she rested peacefully, with her hair falling down against her pale blue, lace gown, and in her hands was a crucifix.
"Querida!" Spoke Don Federico quietly. He sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand. "Querida!" he said again. Doña Francisca did not answer. She lay breathing very softly and peacefully. The medication that the doctor gave her made her sleep soundly. He finally stood up and kissed her forehead. He noticed all of the surrounding candles were lit, reminding him of his father's funeral. Dear God! He thought. Here I have been having a good time in San Antonio, making my name is known in the Revolution, dining, shopping, and enjoying myself, w
hile my wife is at home dying. Overwhelmed with sadness, he slowly went back downstairs. Already Mamá Maria was at the bottom of the stairs looking up, waiting for him. She lowered her head and grabbed her apron, bringing it up to her face and wiping her eyes.
Teary eyed, he took her hand. "Come! I have a surprise for you! It is outside in the courtyard."
CHAPTER 10
In the next two weeks, Doña Francisca was feeling better, and it seemed that her health was improving, which pleased everyone. In anticipation, all held their breath, since everyone was anxiously waiting for the big fiesta celebration for Victoria's sixteenth birthday. Occasionally, Doña Francisca's fever would recur in the middle of the night, and she would break out in cold sweats, but the older women in the hacienda rumored she was also going into an early stage of menopause. With the medication, her coughing had subsided, being not as conspicuous as it had been before; she was sleeping better and was more alert and relaxed. Unbeknownst to all, the medicine contained the large dosage of cocaine.
Don Federico had talked to the young, brawny Martin, called el Toro, the bull, with bulging muscles throughout his chest, arms, and legs. He stood medium-size, looking like a brick outhouse. On a previous occasion, Don Federico had asked him about his problems at his home. The young boy was an abused child. This he knew for a fact because Martin was a runaway from his violent father and had previously found shelter in the barn at Spanish Acres. The family had accepted him and knew the sadistic situation at his rancho. Martin could stay as long as he wanted in Don Federico's hacienda. The conditions were for him to help Roy and the other vaqueros with the cattle and other chores for his meals and shelter.
Apparently, Fred had given Martin a pup early in the year when one of the bitch dogs had four puppies. Martin was overtaken with joy when Fred had offered him a little dog on one of his visits. Martin wanted the black male and took it to his Ranchito when the little dog was weaned. He hid the puppy in their barn for over a month, until his father eventually found out, when the pup started to yap continually. Señor Trevino, a mean, cold-hearted and unsociable man, took the pup and beat him with a board over his head until the pup died. Then he proceeded to take a horsewhip and beat young Martin until he was not able to stand up, and locked him in the barn for days. Martin escaped and decided then to run away, never to return to his Rancho again.
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